Arnekhamani

Name: Arnekhamani Of The Six Reeds
Age: 2769
Gender: male
Race: Mummy
Powers: An ancient now burdened with the curse of immortality by the rite of return, Arnekhamani has a variety of abilities that will simply be a natural part of his new status as what most would call a mummy including.

• Functional Immortality: Arne is immune to any further ravages of aging or time, and cannot die of natural causes.
  
• Enhanced Durability: Though his flesh may be dead, it's long decayed tissue is now possessed of an unnatural durability, and nothing short of powerful magic or a nuke can completely extinguish his life...Most methods will simply put him into an extended century long slumber. He is likewise invulnerable to all natural disease, fatigue, and poisons.
  
• Supernatural Sight: Though he cannot peer directly into the hearts of mortals, he does have a level of supernatural perception, allowing him to see auras and even if a creature is of supernatural origin.
  
• Sybaris: A creature of ancient terrible magic, Arne can inspire a horrible fear in mortals of lesser will than himself.
  
• Life Force Consumption: Opening his mouth unnaturally wide, Arnekhamani can violently consume the life force of any being weaker or dominated by himself, in order to gain more power.
  

Arnekhamani was a renowned mage in life and holds proficiency in Summoning, Destruction, and Thaumaturgy

Skills: Magic, Academics, Leadership, Manipulation, Philosophy, Medicine (in the ancient egyptian sense), Linguistics, Quick Learner, investigation, Logistics
Occupation: High Priest of Apedemak

Likes:

• The Pursuit and refinement of knowledge both mundane and magical
  
• Well ordered and efficient systems, whether a smooth running machine, economy, or society
  
• Recognition and praise for a job well done
  
• An obstacle which serves to challenge his intellect
  
• Meditation and theological study
  
• The study of astronomy, in fact he has a great love for the night sky in general
  
• The company of fellow scholars, or just those with ambition and 'potential'
  
• Animals, they are predictable, loyal to their own, and know their place when domesticated
  

Dislikes:

• Those who ignore and disparage science, and knowledge
  
• The lazy and licentious who rely off others to survive.
  
• A disorganized or chaotic system.
  
• People who waste his time
  
• Those who are arrogant without grounds for it.
  
• Those who disrespect, or undermine their betters or elders
  
• His own horrific memory
  
• Most people honestly (he's almost condescendingly misanthropic)
  

Appearance: In life Arne had the luxury of being attractive and tall in a time when most were short and scarred due to bad nutrition. Though not muscular he had a slim and fit build due to good nutrition and physical activity. He was a Nubian by birth, his skin the same deep brown common in the Sudan, and possessed of a healthy glow. He had a handsome face during his prime, sculpted like stone with a strong jawline, pronounced cheekbones and piercing dark eyes crowned by thick black brows. A sorcerer priest he was bald, and wore the white linen robes and leopard skin of his station, face often adorned in traditional makeup so as to appear alluring and holy to the masses. But he is no longer alive and, made decrepit by the cruel hand of time, that once fair form is now dessicated and decayed, his brown skin once smooth is now leathery and cracked, body now skeletal and  clothed only in the preserved wraps of linen, and those once piercing eyes have long rotted, replaced by empty pits that glow with spectral light. Cursed with this horrific visage, he must hide from human sight until he can find some spell or ritual that allows him to reclaim the image of life.

Background: Oh how the mighty have fallen, an appropriate phrase in regards to this one. Arnekhamani, known and feared as he of the Seven Reeds (and of the thousand lashes as his slaves knew him) was a cruel, hard man in life. Priest to the lion-headed god of Kush and advisor to the pharaoh he was a ruthless chess player in the age of the 25th dynasty. It was he who held dominion over the great temple of the lion god at Meroe, and commanded the mortuary cult. His Ab was strong, his passion and drive burning like fire beneath the desert sun in that age. Under his direction (and whip) great monuments for the glory of the empire were built, under his watch masterful rituals were conducted and great sacrifices made. His lips held the ear of the king, and his hands the power to smite armies, and he was mighty and terrible.

 However he knew as all wise men do, that his time on Earth was limited regardless of what powers he may beseech, it was not the fate of men to live forever, and age was weakening him. Knowing that his time would soon come the great priest studied every method he knew for returning after death, elixirs, potions, skin creams applied to the corpse, even the bath of river water and herbs that brought back the great god Wesir. None panned out, each was but lie after lie, legend after legend cobbled together by the foolish and superstitious. Despair took him, would he be condemned to live only one life? For all his achievements and glory to be lost to time, his name simply a footnote in the records of the future? Enraged by the impotence of men and the indifference of the gods he'd devoted his life too, he fell into a moment of weakness and screaming to the night sky denounced the gods themselves.

  That night unbeknownst to him he took on new gods, gods of death and dark who ruled before the light of civilization, and that was when he found it. Buried seemingly in the same library he'd dug through for years, a scroll older and more decrepit than any other, though his cataract filled eyes struggled to read it, he soon knew he had the real deal. He could defeat death! He could return! Burning with a renewed fire, he rushed to the temple of the mortuary cult and shared his new knowledge. It was undeniably the real deal, there and then the eight grand sorcerers of the cult swore a blood deal, each would be taken through the rite of return, and each would rise in their own time. Yet the renewed flame that burned in Arnekhamani was the fire of his final day alive, and lying on a deathbed, he became the first to undergo the ritual. As he passed on his followers, who he had always treated well, promised to raise him one day in a golden divine form, the first to rise and herald the coming of his brothers...and so assured he loosed his last breath, and passed into the Du'at.

   Bound by the dark magics of the Rite of Return to never pass truly into the underworld, Arnekhamani sleeps in peaceful oblivion, waiting to be roused by his loyal acolytes. And oh the horror that will face the one who rouses him from his oblivion, to see and feel the ravages of the careless mistress time. For in the place of that golden form will be a body dessicated and destroyed by the ravages of time. In the place of glory will be disgust and loss, in the place of loyal followers and brothers in arms...the coldness of isolation. His monuments, great works of sandstone and gold now lie dusty and looted in the deserts of Sudan and Egypt, his very way of life a matter of the history books. One wonders what furious rage will be roused when the sorcerer awakens...and if it would be better to never wake him at all.